Losing It
by Iwaveatyou87
Summary: Wilson's losing something very near and dear to his heart...but I'll not give away the story! Rated T, just to be safe, even though it's probably fine. Only friendship, unfortunately, unless you have your slash goggles practically plastered to your head.


It occurs to me now, about a million and a half weeks after posting this (Me? Exaggerate? Never.) that I never put a disclaimer up here. Because, as silly as this sounds, I have this deathly fear of one of the authors/creators searching through all these stories after the series has stopped making them money just to try and find ONE that hasn't been disclaimed so they can sue the writer of whichever story that may be for all they're worth, and I'm so terrified that it'd be me...because, you know, that's just the kind of thing that I sit and think about in the wee small hours of the morning. :D  
So, here it is:

DISCLAIMER: If I owned them, I certainly wouldn't be sharing them on here. I would be too preoccupied with keeping them tied to various and sundry objects in my room. Using, of course, Wilson's own ties. I think using those would make him more comfortable in that kind of situation.

Right. Begin!

* * *

House furrowed his brow, still lying in bed even at ten on a Saturday morning. If this were any other _normal_ day, the fact wouldn't have bothered him in the slightest, and he would have rolled over and gone back to sleep within minutes.

But this wasn't a normal day.

This was the third day in a row that Wilson had stayed with him, which was normal enough on its own – at least, there had been so many divorces now that Wilson's presence in his apartment could become a normal thing as quickly as remembering how to ride a bicycle after a few years of ignoring it in the corner of a basement.

Normal enough.

But something, today, was off.

Oh, sure, he'd heard the shower start running at seven in the morning (on a Saturday, even!), heard the loud and off-key singing (very loud and very off-key, if you asked him), even those god-awful toenail clippers (how could toenails be that loud?). All normal.

But there had been no hairdryer.

Which, as far as House was concerned, was an odd occurrence indeed.

_Incredibly_ not normal.

He'd lain in bed for a while, attempting to take advantage of the rare event by going back to sleep, but had failed miserably because his leg hurt and, more prominently, his mind was buzzing. Why wouldn't Wilson turn the hairdryer on?

The power was working, he was sure; he hadn't taken the effort to hide the stupid purple machine last night, because Wilson always seemed to find it again no matter where he hid it; and he was more than positive that his feelings would not have been taken into account, because Wilson had certainly never done it before and would keep on _not_ doing it. But this left him out of plausible reasons, which left him wondering, which left him sleepless, which made it pointless to try and sleep so he might as well drag his crippled ass out of bed and see what was going on.

He popped a Vicodin for luck first, though. Had to keep it as normal as possible, after all.

House left his cane leaning against the nightstand beside his bed, not willing to expend the energy it would take to grab it, and hobbled into the bathroom.

At first, he didn't see Wilson at all. The sink was dripping, the mirror was foggy, but there was no Wilson standing and grooming as there would be on any _normal_ day.

But this, he'd already established, was not a normal day, so he was hardly surprised to find Wilson sitting despondently on the edge of the bathtub in naught but a towel that was wrapped around his waist, hair still dripping, staring at his fist with what strongly resembled hopelessness.

"Wilson?" House asked curiously. The whole fist-staring thing was throwing him off.

But Wilson didn't even acknowledge him.

_Hmm_.

House shuffled a little closer, examining the fist in the air and raising an eyebrow in surprise when he made out something brown and furry. It looked like a small rodent.

This, certainly, was _not_ normal. Why would Wilson take time out of his Saturday morning grooming routine to stare miserably at a small rodent clenched in his fist?

But the rodent wasn't _moving_…

He shuffled closer still. It was no rodent, that was positive. The shape was uncertain; there was no face, no whiskers, no nose…then what –

"Wilson," House said again, "what do you have in your hand?"

House watched the man's eyes flicker briefly toward him before going back to the brown furry thing he had clutched in his hand. Now he was _deliberately_ ignoring him.

_Hmm_ _**hmm**_.

"What is in your hand?" he asked, a little louder, making sure to over-enunciate every syllable and eliciting an unhappy sigh from his companion.

"I can't believe this," came the miserable reply. "It just _can_'_t_ be happening…"

House, with no shortage of difficulty, managed to sit on the edge of the bathtub beside him. "What can't be happening?" he asked, examining the clump of furry brown something in Wilson's hand. Not a rodent, no, and not a bug…oh, no, was that –?

"Do you know what this is, House?" Wilson asked, voice borderline hysterical, shaking his fist in front of House's nose. "Do you have any idea what this could _possibly_ be?"

"I wouldn't have asked the question if I already knew the answer," he answered, having gotten a fairly good idea of the object's identity but wanting to make sure he was right.

Wilson lifted his eyes to mournfully meet House's own, obviously on the edge of tears.

"It's…it's _hair_, House." His voice cracked painfully, and he opened his fist over the cold tiled floor. Both of them watched the rather large clump of hair float to the ground, catch a gust of air, and skitter across the floor like a figure skater. "It's _my_ hair. From my head. Not the shower drain, House. _My head_."

Their eyes met again, and neither of them spoke for a moment longer.

Then House couldn't hold it in any longer, and he laughed so genuinely for a moment that he nearly lost his balance and toppled over.

At first, Wilson looked merely 'stunned' instead of the 'morally offended' House had expected, but after a moment he furrowed his brow appropriately. "What?" he asked indignantly.

House had to wait a moment before he could answer, grasping the side of the bathtub for support. "You," he told him seriously, "are _incredibly_ melodramatic."

"I am _not_!" the other man exclaimed, just as indignant as before. "This is serious, House! We're talking about my hair, here! My hair!"

"You're getting older, Jimmy," House explained patiently, as though he were talking to a two-year-old.

Wilson looked affronted at the very notion. "I am not! I'm probably just having an allergic reaction!"

"Or getting older," House said evenly.

"It might be something I ate –"

"You're getting older –"

"Or that new product I tried for my itchy skin –"

"The aging process is taking its toll –"

"I might be reacting with my shampoo, it could be too strong –"

"You're getting along in your years–"

"Hell, it might even be a product I'm using for my hair –"

"Won't be long before you start losing your memory, too –"

"I could be drying it on too high a setting –"

"Or just old –"

"Oh, my God, I'm old!" Wilson wailed, burying his face in his hands.

House rolled his eyes, putting a hand on the other man's back in a less-than-halfhearted comforting gesture – which, actually, he didn't intend to be comforting, so really it was more like just setting his hand on Wilson's back for the hell of it. "Turn your head."

"What?"

"Turn your head so I can see the top of the back of your hair," he said impatiently.

Brown eyes squinted suspiciously as the hands fell away from the face. "Why?"

"I just told you," he barked, even more impatiently. "_Turn_ your _head_."

Wilson's narrowed eyes stayed locked on House's for another minute or two before he sighed, shoulders sagging, and turned his head away.

House fought to keep from rolling his eyes again. "Your hair's so thick, it doesn't even show," he said, half exasperated and half impressed – after all, it had been a pretty large clump of hair. "Absolutely nothing, Wilson. You're fine."

"Are you sure?" Wilson sounded anxious, and he was fiddling with his fingernail.

"No, there's an enormous pink bald spot back here that's so big I can see my reflection in it, clear as day," he said astringently. "Of course I'm sure."

"Okay," came the unsure reply, turning back to face him again. "Thanks, House…"

"Stop being such a drama queen and fix your damn hair before it dries like that," he snapped, struggling to stand up and pointedly ignoring the hand his companion held out to him. Wilson seemed to get the hint and let it drop, and without so much as a hurt or exasperated look in House's direction (not that he was in a position to be giving any of those, in House's personal opinion) he was across the bathroom floor and rifling through the cupboard under the sink for the whining purple monster that was his hairdryer.

"House," he said slowly after a moment, glancing over his shoulder at the man in question, who had made it off of the side of the bathtub and was now limping out of the bathroom. "Where is my hairdryer?"

House stopped in his tracks, eyes widening a fraction. The hairdryer was missing?

_Hmm hmm __**hmm**_...

He smiled to himself. He must have hidden it after all.

"No idea," he said truthfully. "How much beer did we have last night, again?"

"A lot," Wilson called over his shoulder. "What does that have to do with my hairdryer?"

"More than you'd think," he said noncommittally. "Anyway, I don't think it matters."

"What doesn't?"

"Where your hairdryer ended up."

"Why not?" Wilson sounded wary.

"Because," House answered, "at the rate you're losing it, if you wait a few more minutes there'll be no more hair left to dry."

And, grinning at the look on Wilson's face, House turned to make his way into the bedroom. After all, why not take advantage of the lack of hairdryer and catch up on some sleep?

* * *

You have no idea how much better that made me feel, putting up that disclaimer. :)

Anyway, I'd just like you to know that I'm on my knees BEGGING for reviews, because somehow or other no one in my house remembered to do the grocery shopping and so your reviews are now the sustenance that I'm living off of. If you review mine, I'll review yours! :D (It's really easy, I swear: just click that little blue hyperlink with the speech bubble next to it, type your opinion into the blue box, and hit 'submit'.) Thank you!


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